


An Empire for You / An Empire for Two

by Hyliari



Series: Lightning Kings [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 08:53:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyliari/pseuds/Hyliari
Summary: Post-Legion AU where Varian lives. Azeroth stays at peace, and representatives from the Horde and Alliance must work together to jointly rule a kingdom as a symbol of that peace. Anduin is doing fine ruling Stormwind so the Alliance chooses Varian. He's less than pleased when he finds out what plan the Horde has waiting for him. Tags to be added as the work progresses, and specific warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter.It's not necessary to readI'll Be the Blood if You'll Be the Bones, but both fics do occur in the same universeWork title fromEmpireby Of Monsters and Men





	An Empire for You / An Empire for Two

**Author's Note:**

> timeline might be a little fucky, but come on, it's a fanfiction based on a _blizzard_ game.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remember this shit? <https://daddyvarian.tumblr.com/post/173335950866/guess-whomst-is-writing-an-au-where-varian>
> 
> we doin' it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Wolves Without Teeth by Of Monsters and Men
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: injury and coma that cause significant weight loss for one character

Varian is burning.

He screams, but it does nothing for him. He knows, in some distant part of his mind, he’s been stabbed, should be worrying about that. But Gul’Dan is right in front of him, pressing a hand to him, _into_ him, and he’s burning. Tearing apart at the seams and cracking, and all he can do is scream.

Then there’s an explosion.

It feels like it comes from within him—no, it’s just in front of him. There’s a cloud of smoke, putrid and green, and Varian feels a sharp pain in his head before blacking out.

* * *

He wakes, slowly and painfully. He’s still burning, but as he comes to, he figures its the salt water in his wounds from where he’s fallen just on the shoreline. Varian drags himself out of the shallows, crawling towards dry land, but it barely provides any relief. His wounds are still bleeding, filling with sand, the trail of blood slowly washing away into the ocean, and it’s hard to breathe.

As far as he can tell, he’s landed away from the bulk of the Legion forces. The pain in his head tells him he probably hit it on something, and he laughs, a soft wheezing sound before he groans at the strain on his wounds. The odds don’t look great, but at least this time, he has his memories. Looking around the beach, he spots a small cave, and works to drag himself to what semblance of shelter he can find.

Just as he reaches safety of the cave, the world swims, and Varian passes out again.

* * *

When Varian wakes again, he finds himself wondering how his cave got so soft. Perhaps he was lucky enough to find some moss wherever he landed? He keeps his eyes closed, assessing his body, trying to figure out what hurts and what doesn’t, what he needs to pay attention to first. As he considers himself, he hears voices.

Oh no. The Legion is here.

Varian’s eyes open wide and he sits up immediately, scanning for threats. A hand lands on his shoulder and he grabs the wrist, ready to rip it off, until--his eyes focus. He lets go, peeling his fingers away one by one.

“Anduin?” Varian croaks, then coughs, groaning in pain as it jostles his wounds.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, now lay _down_.” Anduin pushes with surprising strength, forcing his father back into bed.

A bed. Oh. That’s why it’s soft. Varian takes a look around, really focusing this time. He’s in a room he’s never seen before, but all along the walls there are potions and salves meant for healing, so it can’t be all bad. Besides, Anduin is there. His hand is still on Varian’s shoulder, soothing him with its light pressure.

“We’re in Dalaran,” he hears Anduin say, and Varian moves his hand to cover Anduin’s. He passes out again.

* * *

Anduin isn’t there the next time he wakes, and Varian can barely conceal his panic. He’s in pain, awful, searing pain. He wants it to stop. He wants to know why. Why nearly his entire body is covered in bandages. Why the salves under them sting so bad. He wants his _son_. Where is his son?

Varian tries to speak, hating how weak his voice sounds as he nearly sobs, “Anduin.”

There’s a flurry of motion just outside the door to his room, and an attendant bursts in. Some woman he’s never seen before. Not Anduin. He needs Anduin. Even if he were dying, even when he has been dying, knowing Anduin is safe brings him the comfort he needs.

“Where is my son,” he asks, trying to sit up. “I need my son.”

“I’m sorry your majesty,” the attendant says, pushing him back down. When did he get so weak? “I’m under strict orders not to let you jostle those bandages. And to do this as soon as you woke up.” She doesn’t look particularly sorry as she jams a healing potion into Varian’s mouth, open on a protest. “My apologies. He said you might fight. Best to take you by surprise.”

Varian’s as confused as he is furious. The last thing he needs is some stranger shoving things in his mouth when he least expects it. “Who gave these orders?” Varian asks.

“Your son, my lord. The king of Stormwind.” The attendant digs around in her pockets and produces two pieces of paper. One, a list in Anduin’s handwriting.

 

 _Check on him as soon as he wakes up_  
_Don’t let him move too much_  
_Don’t let him take off the bandages_  
_Get a healing potion into him as fast as possible_  
_(Don’t let him refuse it!!!!)_  
_Re-apply salves and change the bandages as necessary_ _  
_ Call for me IMMEDIATELY if there is any change in his condition

 

Varian scowls. Anduin knows him too well. Handing the list back to the attendant. She gives a short bow and exits the room, leaving him with the other paper, this one sealed with the royal seal of Stormwind, unbroken.

_Father,_

It’s amazing, Varian thinks, how even seeing his son’s writing can relax him.

_If you are reading this, you’ve finally woken up._

What does he mean, finally?

_As I am writing this, you’ve been asleep for three and a half weeks._

Varian feels dread settle in the pit of his stomach, but keeps reading, desperate for his son’s words.

 _It’s not surprising, given the extent of your injuries. I’ve worked myself to exhaustion healing what I can, but there’s only so much to be done before your body has to take care of the rest. You’re stable, you will heal, but there will be scars. I imagine that’s not new to you, but this scarring will be_ ~~_terrible_ _._ _some of the worst you’ve ever had_ ~~_~~.~~ Extensive. I don’t know _ ~~_if you will wake up_~~ _when you will wake up._

 ~~ _If you are reading_~~ _As you are reading this, whoever gave it to you will be sending word to Stormwind. I’ve had to go back to rule in your absence. Nothing pains me more than to be away from you when you need me, but our people need stable leadership now more than ever to face the Legion. I’ll be there as soon as I am able._

_I love you, father. Please try to cooperate with the healers, and don’t take off your bandages by yourself._

_Anduin_

Varian feels a tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with the bandages compressing it. There’s no date on the letter, probably to keep him from worrying if too much time has passed between Anduin writing it and him reading it. Guilt overwhelms him as he scans it over again. _To rule in your absence_. Anduin has been forced into that role before. At eighteen, he’s better equipped than when he was ten, but still, Varian’s breath catches in his throat. He’d been made king at eighteen, under similarly awful circumstances. Anduin shouldn’t have to deal with this. An injured, possibly dying father, a kingdom at war, it’s too much for one boy at once.

_The scarring will be extensive._

Varian can’t help his curiosity as he examines his bandaged arms. His bandaged everything. The potion has taken a good deal of the pain away, and surely it can’t be too bad if he takes a quick look. He’ll just put the bandages back on when he’s done.

With that decided, he starts to unwrap the bandages around his wrist, slowly unwinding them from a surprisingly complex pattern. At first, he doesn’t see anything wrong. The back of his forearm is fine. But when he turns it over, he lets out a curse. He can see exactly where Gul’dan’s fell magic burned through him, snaking rivers of scars that get worse the closer they get to his center. The more the bandages fall away, the worse he looks, and a terrible curiosity keeps him stripping them up to his shoulder. Nausea grows in his stomach as each bit of flesh he reveals is more scarred than the last, even more as he hears voices approaching the door to his room.

He tries as best he can to wind the bandages back around himself, but he’s going too fast, can’t quite get the pattern right. They’re hanging loosely around him as the door opens, revealing Anduin, and Varian’s heart nearly stops. He doesn’t look like a child anymore. He looks like a king. He must have hit a growth spurt, surely he’s taller, his posture straighter, his eyes, more tired. Varian finds himself with the sudden urge to bow, though he hasn’t done that for anyone in a very long time. The king of Stormwind indeed. His heart swells at the sight of his son, looking weary but, for the most part, doing well.

“What did I tell you!” Anduin doesn’t even give him a proper greeting, just rushes to Varian’s side and starts wrapping his arm again, swift and sure. It’s so fast Varian can barely even tell how he does it. “Do. Not.” Anduin says, “Do not take these off again.” His voice holds the command of a king, the tone of one who has been giving orders, and who is getting used to being obeyed.

Varian would be proud, if he weren’t so upset at being treated like a naughty child. He puts that feeling aside, though. There are more important matters to attend to. “How long?” Varian asks.

Anduin’s head snaps up and he focuses like he’s only just now seeing Varian for the first time. How many times has he done this, while Varian was out? How many soldiers of the Alliance has he tended to personally? No wonder he’s exhausted. And he shows it, sitting, nearly collapsing, onto the edge of Varian’s bed. He places a gentle hand on his father’s uninjured shoulder. “A little over four months,” he says.

Varian tries to stand up, in his shock. Four months. He’s been asleep, doing _nothing_ , for four months while Anduin runs his kingdom and fights a war. The hand on his shoulder presses him back into the bed with terrifying ease. Four months without moving. How his body must have withered. “Four months,” Varian repeats, sinking back down into the mattress. “I abandoned you for—”

“No.” Anduin cuts him off. “You saved our people. You saved the other leaders of the Alliance. You did what you had to do, and I don’t blame you for needing to recover after all that.” His hand squeezes tight on his father’s shoulder.

“You didn’t know if I would wake up,” Varian says, his voice strained. “I left you all alone.”

“I had faith,” Anduin says. “You’re awake now. Just like I knew you would be.”

Varian reaches for him, then, pulling Anduin down into the gentlest hug his son can manage, and buries his face in Anduin’s hair. It’s longer, now. He feels tears well in his eyes but fights them back, just breathing in Anduin’s scent and holding him. “I want to go home,” Varian admits in a whisper.

Varian feels wetness drip onto his neck, and when Anduin pulls away there are tears in his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Let’s take you home, then.”

* * *

Anduin gathers what he needs from Varian’s temporary room as a mage prepares a portal for them. Directly into Varian’s chambers, to make it easier on him. Varian finds out then that he’d had a broken leg, mostly healed now, but he still uses a wheelchair to avoid making it worse. With his atrophied muscles, the last thing he needs is to re-injure himself and take on more bedrest.

It's a very private affair, taking the portal directly from his room in Dalaran to his room in Stormwind. There's no one waiting for him on the other side, and for a moment, Varian feels panic set in his chest. What if it had all been a trick by the legion? What if they used their fel magic to force him into a long sleep, and now they've trapped him?

Anduin steps through the portal behind him, and all at once, Varian relaxes. He's home. Safe. With Anduin. Varian cooperates as Anduin helps him into his bed.

“No one else knows, yet,” Anduin says. “That you're home, I mean. I'll be sending out letters soon enough, but for now you may have to deal with some surprised looks if you leave the keep.”

Varian pulls a face at that. “What do you mean if? Are you confining me here?” He tries to sit up to face Anduin, and when it takes all his effort to do so, he slumps back down, his question answered.

Anduin comes to sit next to him, placing a gentle hand on his father's. “We can start your physical therapy tomorrow. You broke a lot of bones and tore a lot of muscles. Getting stabbed in the gut didn't help either.”

“I don't want to start tomorrow,” Varian whines, “I want to start now! My people—”

“— _Our_ people,” Anduin cuts in, are doing well enough. “You're covered in scar tissue. Not only do I have to make sure I don't re-tear your insides, but your outside isn't ready for intensive activity either. Just get some rest.”

“I've _been_ resting!” Varian shouts. “I've been resting for four months, leaving you alone, leaving our people alone!” Varian sucks in a breath, slow and harsh, then another, before he's able to continue. “I need to be out, among the people! They don't even know I'm alive!”

“And is this what you want to show them?” Anduin's temper breaks and he stands, turning to face his father with fire in his eyes. “Is this what will inspire hope in our people? Should I tell them the leader they have idolized for years has been hurt this badly by the legion? Will that give them hope, Father?”

Varian scowls, too stunned by Anduin's outburst to say anything. Is this what being king has done to his boy?

Anduin continues, his voice softening, “Or should we tell our people you are still recovering, well enough to return to Stormwind but in need of more rest, so that when you are better we can present you as a symbol for our people to rally behind? Which version of yourself will show our people that the legion cannot defeat us?”

Varian sighs, unable to argue with that. Anduin's right, he's not just a leader, he's a [symbol] to his people. The king's health reflects the kingdom's health, to so many of them. Varian hasn't looked at himself in a mirror yet, and he's not sure if he wants to. Better to let them have their young king, a show of vitality and renewal, than whatever he's become now.

“Will you do this, father?” Anduin asks, once again taking a seat beside Varian and holding his hand.

“You're right,” Varian says. “As usual. Will you at least fill me in on what has happened in my absence?”

Anduin groans and flops down on Varian's bed with him. He scrubs his hands across his face before flinging his arms above him. “Genn and Velen have been advising me. Vol’jin was injured and poisoned during the battle and had Sylvanas, of all people, take his place as warchief. There's been no word of how he's doing besides for 'not dead,’ which I don't like. Oh, and Illidan Stormrage is back.”

* * *

Varian gains his strength back slowly. Slow enough he agrees to temporarily abdicate the throne of Stormwind to his son, who is, Varian must admit, much more adept at being king than he would be able to right now. It takes him weeks to regain the strength to walk again, and even then it's slow going and so exhausting he has to rest hours for every minute he spends upright.

Throughout Anduin's reign, Varian serves as his chief advisor. Anduin has been well prepared for this, by his tutors, by Varian's clumsy attempts at teaching, and, though Varian loathes to remember it, his experience as a child-king just eight years ago.

He hears of the rise and fall of the Burning Legion through letters and visitors and Anduin’s descriptions, advises him through it as best he can until somehow, miraculously, they achieve victory. It's not unusual, then, when Anduin knocks on the door to his father's chambers and says, “I need your help.”

“Of course, Anduin. What is it?”

“A spy within the Horde has just returned with troubling news. You aren't going to like it.”

“I rarely do, when it concerns them. You may be content to remain allies at this time, but it never lasts.”

Anduin sighs, his shoulders slumping as he makes his way to Varian's bed and flops down on it. “I still believe in peace, but in this, I'm afraid you might be right.” Anduin takes a deep breath, steeling himself before he continues, “We've received reports that Garrosh Hellscream is still alive. Even Valeera believes it to be true.”

Varian stares blankly ahead for a long time before he says, his voice strained, “Anduin, could you leave me for a moment, please?”

Anduin searches his father's face but finds nothing and slowly, as though Varian is a wild animal on the verge of startling, slips off his bed and quietly out the door.

The latch barely even clicks before he hears Varian scream, wordless and raw.

The sound comes again, quieter this time, muffled, as though into a pillow. Anduin waits at the door, pretending he can't hear his father cursing as loud as he can manage. There's a crash, then another. More cursing. Another crash and a thump near the door. Then, a final curse before things go quiet and Varian says, his voice calm again, “Anduin, you may enter.”

The damage isn't as bad as he expects. There are pillows strewn about the room, several of which knocked over candle holders and other decorations. In the wood of the doorframe, Anduin pulls out the dagger Varian usually keeps near his bed and returns it to him. “Feel better?”

“No.”

“Me neither.” Anduin sits back down on Varian’s bed again and buries his face in his hands. “He’s in some orcish prison under Orgrimmar, but I don’t know if that helps or makes things worse at this point. I have some more news. You won’t like it either.”

“Does it involve that son of a—”

“Father!”

“Well?”

“No, but it has to do with the Horde.”

“I told you the peace wouldn’t last.”

“That’s just it, Father. There’s something big coming up, and I think I need you to come with me. There have been talks. About a more permanent peace. The Alliance and Horde are to select ambassadors to rule over a piece of land together as a show of unity.”

Varian scoffs. “It can’t be done.”

“I think it can. But I need your help setting the terms of the agreement. Will you come with me to Dalaran?”

“Of course,” Varian sighs, resigning himself to his son’s ideals once again.

* * *

Within the Alliance, powerful forces gather to decide the fate of Stormwind.

A voice speaks up: “We need this land for our own. Anduin is ruling Stormwind now, let’s send Varian and he’ll kill whoever they nominate. After that it’ll be like an easy retirement for him."

The other voices murmur in agreement.

* * *

Within the Horde, similar machinations brew.

“Varian survived the broken shore, and they’re going to send him. Our spies say so, our common sense says so. We need this land for our own, but who can kill Varian and take it for us?”

A name, whispered, then repeated with confidence.

“We have to use him. No one else can match up to Varian’s strength.”

“He’s been wasting away for too long, he can’t match anyone’s strength.”

“So has Varian. And besides, if Varian kills him, it’s no loss to us. No one knows what else to do with him. Once he dies, we’ll just storm the castle and take it by force. Who will blame us after the Alliance kills our ambassador?”


End file.
